Encounter At Weathertop
by samdro87
Summary: This is my version of the encounter at Weathertop where Frodo is injured. My first LOTR fic. NOT slash Chapters 8-10 up
1. Frodo's Injury

DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything affiliated with Lord of the Rings. Anything copyrighted is owned by its respected company/owner.  
  
  
  
Frodo ran as he had never run before.  
  
The Ringwraiths were after him.  
  
The Ringwraiths- so close he could almost feel their breath on his neck- did Ringwraiths breathe? Strider said that they were not dead, and yet not alive- they lived a cursed half-life, always lusting for the Ring.  
  
Frodo risked a glace behind him and instantly regretted it- the dark shape of his evil pursuer loomed ever closer. Soon it would be inevitable- he would have to turn and fight.  
  
Frodo brandished his blade quickly, eyes narrowed, ready for battle. He let out a sudden yell, a scourge bursting through him- he must protect the Ring! The thought coursed through his mind, consuming him. Sweat stung his eyes as he lashed out again and again with his sword, intent on his opponent, determined to win the fight. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Frodo fervently wondered whether this was an effect of his own mind, or The Ring upon his finger.  
  
He thrust out again with his blade, this time striking home, leaving a gash in the Ringwraith's cloak. The dark creature did not stop, or stumble, or even seem to take notice of his wound; he only lunged forward again, bearing down on Frodo, as if the wound did not hurt him, only anger him, and make him all the more determined to defeat his opponent.  
  
The Ringwraith delivered a cruel, harsh blow, which would have proven disastrous had Frodo not anticipated the move just in time, barely parrying it. This seemed to anger the Ringwraith even more- he lunged again, seemingly determined to strike the hobbit if it was the last thing he ever did. He swung his blade-  
  
A white-hot pain coursed through Frodo's shoulder. He cried out in anguish, making desperate slashes with his blade. Never had he felt such pain in his life.  
  
"The Ring," he thought dimly. "I must take off the Ring. No one will find me- I am invisible. I must take off the Ring."  
  
With considerable effort, he brought his left hand to his right, slowly drawing the Ring off of his finger. It did not even occur to him that the Ringwraith had stopped his advance, just when it seemed he could deliver a killing blow to his opponent. Perhaps this was because he believed that he already had.  
  
Frodo, the Ring off of his finger, collapsed to the ground.  
  
***  
  
Slowly, slowly, Frodo was regaining consciousness. He was first aware of the cold, horrible pain coursing through his side and shoulder, so intense that he could barely stand it. Then, he became aware of his body- his legs, straight out on the ground, his eyes, closed, his chest, gently rising and falling. Then his senses returned- hearing, smell, feel. He could hear the sounds of muttering voices, and the smell of damp earth. He forced his eyes open, groaning as he did so.  
  
"Shh!" A voice said. "I think he may be awake!"  
  
"Mr. Frodo?" a familiar voice asked. "Are you awake, sir?"  
  
It was Sam, his faithful servant.  
  
Frodo tried to reply, but his voice would make no sound. Clearing his throat, he tried again.  
  
"Y-yes," he managed this time. He swallowed, moistening his vocal chords. Then, "What happened?"  
  
"You were injured," a voice said. Merry this time. "We don't know how bad-"  
  
"It doesn't look so bad," another voice piped up. Pippin. "It's only a little wound-"  
  
Before anyone could say or do anything, Pippin leaned over close to Frodo, pulling back his shirt a bit to expose the wound.  
  
"See…" he started to say.  
  
Frodo never heard him.  
  
Before he could think of anything, a cry escaped his lips, and Frodo gasped, eyes wide.  
  
"Pippin!" Merry cried, grabbing his cousin by the collar and pulling him back.  
  
"I…I'm sorry Frodo…" Pippin stammered. "I didn't know…"  
  
"Well, you shouldn't have, anyways!" Merry admonished. "Are you all right, Frodo?"  
  
"I…I'm all right." Frodo forced himself to say.  
  
He closed his eyes, trying to relax. His shoulder throbbed.  
  
"Where has that Strider got off to now?" he heard Sam say.  
  
"I don't know," Merry replied. "He went to look for something or other- I don't know what."  
  
"When will he be back?" Samwise demanded.  
  
"No telling with him," said Merry. "Could be in five minutes; could be in three hours. Who knows?"  
  
"Not me, but I wish he'd get back," said Sam.  
  
"I thought you didn't trust him," Merry said.  
  
"I don't," said Sam. "I mean, rather, I didn't. Well…I'm just not sure about him. But I'm beginning to trust him- Frodo was on the ground, unconscious, and he could have done anything to him then, kill him, or take the Ring- but he didn't. Instead, he carried him here. I think we can trust him- but I still want to be cautious. In the meantime, there must be something that can be done for Frodo."  
  
Throughout this conversation, Pippin remained silent. He was feeling terribly guilty. While Merry and Sam were still talking, he leaned close to Frodo.  
  
"I really am sorry, Frodo," he whispered. "I didn't mean to hurt you."  
  
"It's all right, Pip," Frodo said, forcing his eyes open to look at his younger cousin.  
  
"I know, but…but…I just feel so bad about it. I shouldn't have- and I'm worried, Frodo. It does only look like a little wound, but…but…it seems to hurt you so…and you were unconscious for so long…I don't understand it."  
  
Before Frodo could reply, Merry came over to them, admonishing Pippin again.  
  
"Are you over there bothering Frodo again, Peregrin Took?" he demanded. "Come over here, and make yourself useful! Boil some water; we're going to try and clean the wound."  
  
Pippin looked guilty again. He glanced at Frodo apologetically. Frodo cracked a slight smile.  
  
"It's all right, Pip," he said softly. "Go and do as Merry tells you; it'll be ok."  
  
Pippin smiled and headed over to where Merry stood, hands on hips.  
  
Sam slipped over next to Frodo.  
  
"How do you feel, Mr. Frodo?" he asked.  
  
"My shoulder hurts," Frodo admitted. "And I feel so cold…"  
  
Sam slipped his cloak down his shoulders, taking it off and tucking it around Frodo, carefully avoiding his wound.  
  
"I don't understand it," Frodo whispered weakly. "It's just as Pippin said- it looks like so small a wound- why-"  
  
"Hush, Mr. Frodo, you mustn't be exerting yourself none, now," said Sam gently. "You should rest."  
  
Frodo sighed deeply, albeit weakly, wincing a little as his shoulder flared up in protest as he tried to shift positions.  
  
He was just drifting into an uneasy sleep when he heard Pippin exclaim "Strider!" suddenly.  
  
Forcing his eyes open again, he faintly saw the shadow of Aragorn striding into the camp. Sam stood up, drawing his sward and standing over Frodo protectively.  
  
"I am not a Black Rider, Sam, nor in a league with them," Strider said, kneeling next to Frodo.  
  
Merry crept up next to Sam.  
  
"I thought you trusted him now," He whispered, so that only Sam could hear.  
  
Sam shrugged slightly, never taking his eyes off of Frodo and Aragorn.  
  
"I don't know," he whispered back. "I just don't know."  
  
Strider was drawing long, green leaves from a pouch on his belt.  
  
"I have walked far and long to find these," he said. "They are of a rare plant, with special healing powers. I am lucky to have found them. But on a wound such as this, their effects may be small."  
  
"A 'wound such as this'?" Pippin repeated. "What kind of wound is it?"  
  
Strider sighed.  
  
"It is the wound of a mongul blade," said Strider somberly.  
  
"A what?"  
  
"It is a deadly blade, carried by the Ringwraiths," Aragorn explained. "An evil knife. But no more about it now. We must do what we can for Frodo, and get him to Rivendell as soon as possible."  
  
He stood then, going over to the fire and dropping some of the leaves into the water boiling there. Then he took the pot suspended over the flame off of it's handle and brought it over next to Frodo, pulling a clean scrap of cloth from his cloak.  
  
"Here, Sam," he said, handing both items to the hobbit. "Take these, and bathe the wound well. I must go now and see if I can find anything else."  
  
"Anything else?" Pippin repeated. "Meaning you have found something?"  
  
"I have, indeed," said Strider, pulling something from his belt.  
  
It was the hilt of a sward, with no blade.  
  
"The blade has melted," Aragorn said, before anyone could even draw the breath to ask. "But I fear that before it did, part of it broke off into the wound, and is now working inwards. If that is so, we do not have much time."  
  
He then strode off, saying no more.  
  
  
  
More will be added to this story soon! That is, if anyone is interested in hearing more- this is my first LOTR fanfic, so please review! 


	2. Healing plants

OK, here it is, the second chapter! I know that I re-ordered the way things happened at Weathertop just a little, but I tried to stay as close to the original way of things that I could. I hope that I am doing justice to Tolkien's work; I am a huge fan. Speaking of that, I guess I should add another disclaimer, even though I already had one at the beginning of the fic…*Disclaimer* I don't own anything affiliated with Lord of the Rings. There. Now that that's all done and over with, enjoy the story!  
  
  
  
Frodo had barely heard that which had been said; he was feeling very close to again losing consciousness, and his eyes were beginning to roll back.  
  
Sam came over to him now with the hot water with the plant in it, and Frodo could smell that the fragrance was fresh and sweet, and made him feel just a little stronger. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.  
  
Sam carefully unbuttoned the top of Frodo's shirt, pulling it to the side. He then dipped the cloth in the steaming water and applied it to the wound.  
  
Frodo sucked in a sharp breath, his back arching, then quickly relaxed. After the initial shock of the pressure against the lesion, the pain seemed to lessen, and he felt less cold.  
  
Sam continued to gently dab the cut with the hot, sweet-smelling water, and Frodo relaxed more and more.  
  
"It seems to be doing something," Merry commented.  
  
Sam nodded.  
  
"Do you feel any better, Mr. Frodo?" he asked.  
  
Frodo opened his eyes.  
  
"Yes, I do," he said, somewhat surprised to even hear himself say so.  
  
Just then, Strider returned.  
  
"You look better, Frodo," he commented with a smile.  
  
"It's your herbs," Frodo replied, "They make me feel stronger, and not so cold."  
  
"That is good," said Aragorn. "Rest now; you shall be needing it."  
  
"What is that?" Pippin asked, gesturing to the folded brown cloth that Strider had brought back with him.  
  
"I believe it is the cloak of the Ringwraith," said Aragorn. "See the slash here, near the bottom? That is where Frodo struck him, I believe."  
  
"You struck a Ringwraith?" Pippin asked in surprise.  
  
Frodo gave a slight smile.  
  
"Yes," he said. "But it didn't seem to do anything."  
  
"No," said Strider, "More deadly to him was the name of Elberenth. But no more talk now, or any questions about how I know of what happened! Frodo must rest; and we should also as well. We have a long journey ahead of us."  
  
  
  
If you got down this far, that means that you probably read my story. If so, then hit that long little button on the left hand side down there and review it! Unless you're a writer too, you don't understand how good it feels to have someone review your work. Even if you didn't like it, I want to know! Constructive criticism and even flames are welcome. Of course, nice reviews are always welcome too… ( Thanks to all of those who have reviewed so far! Does anyone want to hear more of this story? If there is any interest, I will continue. 


	3. Fever

Frodo awoke late in the night with a start, breathing heavily. It was the pain that had woken him; the heavy, intense pain that was increasingly getting worse, coursing through his side and shoulder. He gritted his teeth and shut his eyes tightly, trying to close it out of his mind.  
  
A sudden sharp, shooting pain glanced through his shoulder, and before he could even think to stop himself he let out a cry.  
  
Suddenly, Sam stirred next to him.  
  
"Mr. Frodo?" he asked sleepily. "Are you all right, sir?"  
  
"I'm fine, Sam," Frodo replied, cursing himself inwardly. "Go back to sleep."  
  
Sam sat up.  
  
"Do you want something to drink?" he asked. "Or eat? You hadn't any proper supper this last evening, you know, and I'm sure that isn't at all good for you."  
  
"I'm not hungry, Sam, but thank you," said Frodo. "Really, you should get back to your rest; Strider says it is still a rather long way to Rivendell."  
  
Frodo was leaning on his elbow, propping himself up somewhat on his good shoulder. Sam continued to sit on his bedcovers, seemingly having no intention of going back to sleep.  
  
"Really, now, Mr. Frodo," he said, "Why don't you have some bread and butter? We have a few apples left, too. They'd do you good."  
  
"But Sam, I-" Frodo started.  
  
But before he could finish, that horrible pain overwhelmed him again, and he gasped.  
  
Sam was by his side in an instant.  
  
"There, there, now, Mr. Frodo," he cooed soothingly. Lie back down, now."  
  
He eased Frodo gently back onto the ground, resting his head on the pillow there.  
  
Frodo breathed heavily, his features twisted in pain. Sam had his hand on his good shoulder, trying to offer encouraging words to his master. After a moment, though, when Frodo's anguished groans did not cease, he whispered that he would soon return and crept over to Strider.  
  
"Aragorn," he whispered, "Come quickly! Frodo is in pain again, and I do not know how to ease it."  
  
Strider rose at once and went to where the Ringbearer lay, gasping and coughing though intense fits of pain.  
  
"Relax," Strider advised, pouring water from his bottle into a kettle and setting it over the fire. "It will take a minute for the water to boil; until then, try and relax."  
  
But Frodo was in such pain by now that that was nearly impossible. He had great wads of blankets balled up in his fists, digging his heals into the ground in an attempt to find a way to occupy himself so not to cry out.  
  
At last the water was heated, and Aragorn again put the leaves of the athelas healing plant into the steaming liquid, and tugged Frodo's shirt down his shoulder. Frodo let out a screech as the cloth was pressed to his wound, struggling against the touch, his mind now so consumed with fever that he could not even understand that he was being helped, not hurt. He thrashed about wildly, breathing hard, eyes wide open, gasping with effort.  
  
"Hold him down, Sam!" Strider said, struggling to keep the hobbit in place, so that he would not hurt himself.  
  
Sam quickly knelt by his master's side, gently placing his calloused hands on Frodo's good shoulder and side. He soon found, however, that gentleness was not going to calm his master, and soon had to use force to keep him from struggling.  
  
After a moment, though, Frodo relaxed, though Sam could not tell whether this was because he had exhausted himself or if the plant was taking effect.  
  
Frodo lay still now, almost too still, breathing heavily. Sweat dripped from his forehead, and he shivered, though his skin was hot to the touch. He opened his eyes briefly, and they were bloodshot and bright with fever.  
  
Sam ached for his master.  
  
"Go and get some cool water, Sam," said Strider, "as cold as you can get it."  
  
Sam nodded and sprinted off, heading towards the stream on the left side of the plateau. He dipped a cloth into the cool waters and hurried back with it, handing it to Strider, who took the cloth and gently placed it, still dripping wet, on Frodo's hot forehead.  
  
Frodo shivered harshly and tried to sit up, clawing the cloth away, muttering "cold, cold" incoherently.  
  
"Hush, Frodo," Strider said sternly, not out of unkindness but out of concern, knowing that Frodo would not listen in his fever-ridden state unless he was forced to. He pushed Frodo back to the ground as gently as he could, and placed the cloth back on his forehead, holding Frodo's hands by his sides so that he could not brush it away again.  
  
"Quick, Sam, more cool water," he said. "Put it in a pot and bring some cloth; we'll see if we can't get this fever down."  
  
More soon, for anyone interested!! If you want more, let me know, because I won't write more if there are no reviews!! Thanks so much to all who have reviewed so far!! 


	4. Night and Day

Sam ran again towards the stream, carrying a brass pot that he had brought from home. Reaching the bank, he knelt quickly down, dipping the pot into the cool waters, and sprinted back towards his master.  
  
Aragorn sat with Frodo cradled in his arms. The small bundle of hobbit was shuddering violently, a harsh rattle to his breath, a sound broken only by gasping coughs every few minutes.  
  
Sam crept quietly over to the two huddled figures, silently setting down the pot next to Aragorn before going over to one of the bags to pull out a fresh cloth.  
  
"Here, Sam," said Strider quietly, holding out his hand.  
  
Sam obediently deposited the cloth into the Ranger's waiting hand and watched as he silently dipped it in the water and placed it on Frodo's fevered forehead.  
  
Frodo let out a soft moan, but quickly succumbed to the coldness and relaxed, still shivering despite the heat radiating from his body. Strider glanced up at Sam with a sad look in his dark eyes.  
  
Sam did not at all like that look.  
  
***  
  
The next morning, Frodo was a little better; at least, he was well enough to be helped onto a pony and hold on, eyes usually closed, small, frail body surrounded in blankets. Sam was worried; they all were, of course, but Merry was too level-headed to get too worked up about it; Pippin was young, and did not quite understand; and Strider- well, Strider understood, of course, but he was too quiet about it to be of much comfort to poor Sam. So he suffered in silence, looking anxiously towards his master almost always, as if sure that as long as he kept an eye on him nothing would ever happen. This, of course, was not true, and Sam knew it; but it made him feel better about the whole thing, and he kept telling himself that everything was going to be all right, even if he knew that this also was not quite true.  
  
The day wore on, and it became apparent to all the travelers that Frodo was not going to be able to keep on much longer. His breath was heavy in his chest, and he swayed, and Sam began to fear that he would fall off the pony.  
  
Finally, Strider called for a halt.  
  
"Only briefly," he warned, "we must press on."  
  
Sam quickly became defensive.  
  
"Well, we can't just keep on at such a speed!" he burst out. "Frodo is hurt and ill; you can't expect him to keep traipsing all over Middle Earth all day and well into the night! He needs a rest!"  
  
Strider looked at Sam gravely, and the hobbit began to regret his words.  
  
"We must keep on, Sam, as quickly as we can," said Strider in a calm, quiet voice. "Rest will not help Frodo. Only Elrond can do anything for him now."  
  
Sam hung his head in silence.  
  
Well, what do you think? Interested in more? Let me know! Thanks! To all of you who have so far reviewed:  
  
Minx: My first reviewer! Thank you so much: you have no idea how good I felt when I read that!  
  
Xena: Anxious to read more, eh? Well, keep checking for updates! I plan on continuing through to Rivendell if there continues to be interest.  
  
Arien: Yeah, I've read a couple of other Weathertop stories, and I figured, well, why not post my own? Actually my inspiration was Frodo Baggins of Bag End, I just love her stories! Check them out for more Weathertop blues tales :)  
  
????(): Yeah, this is my first LOTR fic. You like it? Thanks!!  
  
elizabeth wyath: I always thought the same thing! Tolkien did sort of underplay that scenario. Exactly why we fanfic writers must elaborate! Ha ha!  
  
Epona: So glad there's interest! Thanks for the review!  
  
Fool of a Took: Don't worry, don't worry! I'm writing, I'm writing!  
  
Minx: Thanks so much for another review! I'm SOOO glad you like it! :)  
  
Joanna Goff: You have given me the biggest compliment I could ever receive. Almost as good as Tolkien? Are you serious? Wow!!!! Thanks so much! You have no idea how much that means to me….to be as almost as good as my fav author….wow!!!  
  
Lissa: Thanks for the encouragement, I will!!  
  
elizabeth wyeth: You over there? Ok, ok, I see you! Pipe down! More on the way! Thanks for the second review :)  
  
Pheonix Ice: Thanks! I'm glad I'm doing ok keeping the people in character: I was a little worried about that, glad to know I'm doing ok! Yeah, I have a non-slash policy, happy to know you like that!  
  
Michelle: I have a knack for details? Thanks!! You're too kind… :) 


	5. Breakfast

Frodo moaned, turning over in his sleep. It had been difficult to get relaxed enough even to fall asleep, and now in his fevered rest he was again uncomfortable, and tossed and turned fitfully.  
  
Strider watched him silently, dark eyes searching as the whimpering young hobbit moved restlessly in his sleep. He was concerned, but he knew that he was unable to do anything but get Frodo to Rivendell as soon as possible. Strider sighed, turning now towards Sam, who also did not sleep well tonight. He was worried about his master; that was clear enough. But Aragorn knew that for this he also could do nothing; he was not much on sentiment, or comfort.  
  
Frodo let out a cry, and Strider's head snapped back to where the Ringbearer lay, bright blue eyes now wide open, staring at him through the dark.  
  
Strider crept over to the hobbit, and gathered him in his arms.  
  
"Hush, Frodo," he said quietly, wiping a stray strand of dark hair from the hobbit's eyes, his gentle touch belaying his rough appearance. "I'm here. Rest, now. Everything will be all right."  
  
Frodo shuddered and closed his eyes, falling back into a fevered sleep. Aragorn sighed and lay him gently back onto the ground. The hobbit immediately began whimpering again. Being as gentle as possible, Aragorn again lifted him up into his arms, where Frodo slept fitfully for the rest of the night.  
  
***  
  
The next morning dawned cool and clear. Frodo awoke to the nauseating smell of roasting rabbit. Everyone else seemed quite pleased over the catching of the hare, but Frodo's stomach turned at the thought of eating, and he lay quietly until Sam crept over next to him, bidding him wake.  
  
"Come on, Mr. Frodo, wake up, sir!" he said pleasantly. "We've got ourselves a real meal today! Mr. Aragorn's caught us a rabbit, and it's biggun, too! Would you like me to bring you some?"  
  
Frodo swallowed, moistening his parched throat before answering in a horse whisper.  
  
"No thank you, Sam," he said quietly. "I'm not hungry."  
  
"Not hungry!" said Sam, sounding truly surprised. "But you must be, sir! It's been an awful long time since you've eaten, and you're a hobbit, and hobbits must eat. If you ask me, we've not been gettin' near 'nough. A body should have five square meals a day, and we're lucky if we get three!"  
  
Frodo almost cracked a smile.  
  
"You can have my share, then, Sam," he said.  
  
"Oh, no, Mr. Frodo, I couldn't do that!" Sam cried.  
  
It was just then that Pippin came over with a steaming plate in his hands, his mouth full of rabbit-meat, happily chomping away.  
  
Frodo thought he was going to lose whatever might be in his stomach.  
  
"Come and get some, you guys," Pippin said through a mouthful of meat. "It's delicious!" he swallowed and took another large bite, and muffled "mmmm" coming from somewhere deep in his throat.  
  
Frodo moaned and tried to turn over, with no success.  
  
"Ay, what's wrong with Frodo now?" asked Pippin. "Don't you want some hasenpfeffer?"  
  
Frodo shook his head, afterwards wincing at the resulting throb it caused in his head.  
  
Pippin shrugged.  
  
"More for me, then!" he said happily, and went back for seconds.  
  
Sam glared in the youngest hobbit's direction, then turned back towards Frodo.  
  
"You're sure, then, that you won't be wantin' none?" Sam asked doubtfully.  
  
"Very sure, Sam," said Frodo.  
  
Sam sighed and headed over to where Strider knelt by the fire, feeding it fresh wood, and got himself some breakfast.  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: A very special thanks to all of my reviewers! I'm so glad people are enjoying my story; I'm a bit of a reluctant writer, I never think that my writing's any good. If it weren't for my cousin (Sabrat12; you can check out her stories too! If you're a Beatles fan, that is, as we are :) and my sister then I probably wouldn't be doing any writing, but they always encourage me and tell me my stories are good, so I keep writing them. And then I discovered fanfiction.net and discovered that other people liked them too! I'm very flattered, and quite ecstatic! So thanks again! Also, someone asked if this story was movieverse or bookverse. Well, I'm not sure. I've seen the movie, and also read the books, and I suppose it could be either. I think it might become bookverse, because I think I'm going to have Glorfidel come, as the books say, and not Arwen. What do you want to hear? Either way is OK with me, I'll write it however people would like it. 


	6. Pippin's Load

Disclaimer: I do not own anything at all affiliated with Lord of the Rings or J.R.R Tolkien. This story is purely fanfiction, intended only to do justice to Tokien's work and not in any way jeopardize it.  
  
  
  
After breakfast, everyone in the camp began packing up to move on. Frodo lay by the fire, wishing he could help, but knowing that he was too weak. Strider had told him not to even try today; he was going to be needing all of his strength for the miles ahead.  
  
Frodo closed his eyes and tried to get in a few extra minutes of sleep. It was not long, however, before Sam was tugging at his sleeve, whispering his name and telling him that everything was ready, so that they might leave.  
  
Frodo suppressed a groan as he opened his eyes (which took far too much effort) and began to get up.  
  
Sam supported Frodo's back as the hobbit struggled to his feet, finally making it up as Strider poured a bucket of water over the fire. Sam picked up the displaced blankets upon the ground and wrapped them about Frodo's shoulders, and helped his master over to the pony.  
  
Frodo didn't much want to ride, feeling very guilty about his comfort (which was actually, in truth, not at all comfortable) while the rest walked. In truth, he knew that he could not walk, but that just made him feel worse still- it seemed to him that it was his own fault that he had been injured, and that now not only was he paying the price but his friends as well.  
  
Strider cupped his hands and Frodo stepped into them to mount the pony, while Sam helped him into the saddle. When he was situated, they set off, each traveler besides Frodo carrying luggage upon their backs. Frodo ached to see young Pippin struggling with a heavy pack full of rations. He was about to ask if someone might help the poor fellow, because no one seemed to notice his difficulties, when he saw his young cousin look left, then right, and then attempt to lighten is load a bit by stealing an apple out of the pack. Frodo smiled as Pippin fell back a bit and ate the piece of fruit at record speed, throwing the core into the woods with a furtive glance at the others to see if anyone had seen him commit this felony. He laid eyes on Frodo, who sat smiling at him from his mount. Pippin looked terribly guilty.  
  
Frodo motioned for him to come closer.  
  
"Mighty smooth, there," he whispered. "For once, you weren't caught." He laughed. "Well, not by anyone that would tell, anyways."  
  
Pippin smiled, then laughed.  
  
"Thanks, Frodo," he said quietly. "I promise I won't dare eat any more. I know we need to ration our food, it's just…"  
  
"I know Pippin. You and that hollow leg of yours! Here, that pack must be heavy. Why don't you put it up here for awhile?" He motioned towards the extra space in front of him on the saddle.  
  
"Well, if you don't mind…"  
  
"I don't, or I wouldn't have offered!"  
  
Pippin grinned and swiftly swung the pack onto the saddle.  
  
"Pippin!" called Merry. "What on Middle-Earth are you doing? Pick up your pack and come on!"  
  
Pippin glanced up at Frodo.  
  
"I told him he could put it here for awhile," Frodo said, but he was so weak that his voice was hardly audible, and Merry had to fall back next to the pony and lean close so that Frodo might say it again.  
  
When he had, Merry sniffed.  
  
"Pippin can carry his own weight," he said, and motioned for the youngest hobbit to take up his pack.  
  
Pippin sighed and, with a "thank-you-anyways" sort of look at Frodo, hurried forward to catch up with his cousin.  
  
Frodo was watching poor Pip struggle along again when, thankfully, he saw Sam pull him aside and, when no one was looking, switch packs with him. Sam's pack had nothing but blankets in it, and was a whole lot lighter than the rations pack. Besides that, Sam was both older and larger than Pippin, and also much more used to work, having helped the Gaffer in the gardens all his life, where he had to do work much more excruciating than carrying a pack.  
  
Frodo was grateful for this, and smiled at Sam when the hobbit turned his head to check on his master.  
  
Eventually, the travelers stopped for a brief lunch at about one o clock, much to the poor hobbit's disliking. They all agreed that three meals a day was just not enough, especially with the meager rations they were getting. They all got a bit more today, however, because Frodo again refused to eat, much to all the other's concern. Frodo had always been thin and pale, but now he was like a ghost all-around, and Sam wondered aloud to Merry when they went to a nearby stream for water whether his master would not waste away to nothing. Merry had indeed had no reply, but secretly thought that he might, if they did not get him help soon. 


	7. Sam and Aragorn

Disclaimer: I do not own anything affiliated with Lord of the Rings.  
  
A/N: My sincerest apologies for the appallingly long delay! I really will try to update more often from now on. I have been very busy. I know that that is no excuse, but sorry, it's true! Like I said, I hope to update more often from now on. If anyone has any questions, comments, concerns, ideas, etc. please contact me at samdro87@yahoo.com. I love getting e-mails, so don't hesitate if you have something to say! Thanks! Also, I would love to know what people most want to hear from this story, so let me know in your reviews and/or an e-mail! Thanks again to my lovely reviewers; I love you guys! And thanks for all the patience! And, now, what you really want to hear, the story! (as opposed to my babbling.) Hope you enjoy it!  
  
***  
  
The days continued on, and Frodo continued to become paler and paler, thinner and thinner. He refused to eat, and ran a high fever.  
  
Sam sat with him often, and always staying near to his master when he rode the pony, hoping to assist in any way that he could.  
  
But there was little anyone could do for Frodo. He was getting weaker every minute; every time the pony jostled him, or a swift wind blew and chilled him, or they stopped and he had to dismount, he felt just a little weaker, and just a little colder, and the effects did not slow or stop. There was nothing to be done to reverse the effects the wound and its poison was having on the hobbit; yet he showed much resilience in spite of things, and he kept on and did not complain, no matter how much pain he was in, or how cold he was.  
  
Sam knew his master well, and could see that he was hiding his pain from the others. He therefore always did things for him even when not asked (for he never would be); he covered his master with thick, warm blankets, and tried to make him comfortable whenever possible.  
  
It would seem as if the company would try to take more breaks the sicker Frodo got; but it was just the opposite; the more ill he became, the more Strider worried and encouraged the hobbits to press on. However, it was becoming more and more difficult for Frodo to handle the constant pace, and he often groaned involuntarily as the pony jostled him.  
  
It was evening now, and Strider looked on anxiously as Sam tried to help Frodo down from the pony. The ill hobbit was trying his best to steady himself and get down with as little trouble as possible, but this was not really working in the least, and Sam, with his small size, was having difficulty.  
  
Aragorn strode quietly over to where the two hobbits were struggling and, as gentle as anything, picked Frodo up in his large arms and cradled him gently.  
  
"Come, Sam," he said softly, carrying the Ringbearer as easily as if he were a child and as gently as if that child were his own.  
  
He proceeded to the fire, and lay the hobbit down beside it, motioning for the faithful gardener to fetch some blankets.  
  
Frodo shivered on the ground, moaning softly. Feeling pity, Aragorn picked him up again, rocking him a bit, hoping the motion would help him to sleep. Sam returned with blankets, stopping in his tracks behind Strider's back, a little surprised to see the Ranger cradling Frodo like that. He had previously been a little afraid of Strider, though he had grown to trust him more and more, but he still considered him a bit rough. It surprised him to see the Ranger act so gentle and caring. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Samwise came up next to Aragorn and handed him the blankets.  
  
Strider looked up and took them silently, wrapping the small hobbit in his arms with them. Then he turned to Sam.  
  
"You are surprised?"  
  
Sam almost jumped.  
  
"Surprised?" he repeated.  
  
"Yes," said Aragorn, with a hint of a smile, "surprised at me. You did not think that a Ranger could care, did you?"  
  
Sam stared, startled that this man knew so much of his thoughts.  
  
Strider smiled again, saying no more and wrapping the blankets a little tighter around Frodo as he shivered.  
  
Sam knelt and put his hand at Frodo's forehead. Still hot. Frowning, he looked at Aragorn.  
  
The Ranger looked back steadily for a moment, then turned his eyes back to his ill charge. He sighed.  
  
"We must get him to Rivendell soon," he said quietly.  
  
"How much longer until we reach the Elven-land?" Sam asked.  
  
"Days," the man replied sadly. "I am actually surprised he made it this far, to tell you the truth. I don't know how much longer he can keep on. That is why we must hurry, despite his pain." He sighed again.  
  
Sam said nothing for a moment.  
  
"We hobbits are made of stronger stuff than most people reckon, Mr. Strider," he said after a pause. "Frodo especially; more than most, I should say. I worry about him, but I know he can make it there. He has to, and he knows it. If anyone can survive this, it's him, Mr. Strider. You may not believe me. I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't; seein' as how small he is. But size doesn't have nottin' to do with it, contrary to what most people are thinkin' these days. But we hobbits; we're tough, sir, if you catch my meaning."  
  
Sam looked at Aragorn to see his response to the hobbit's sudden speech. He was surprised to see him smiling.  
  
"I believe it, Sam," he said. "It is just as Gandalf always told me; he always said that there was more to hobbits than met the eye!" He laughed. "Everyone says they're quiet, pusillanimous folk, and never do anything interesting, but what I've seen of hobbits so far is quite contrary to that."  
  
Frodo moaned in his sleep just then, and the two traveler's attention turned instantly back to the ill lad. He still slept, but his cheeks were flushed and he groaned softly. Strider sighed.  
  
"All the same…" he started, but cut himself off. Sam swallowed.  
  
The night wore on, and Sam made a decision. From now on, he would trust Aragorn. 


	8. Glorfindel

The days wore on, and still Frodo did not improve. Aragorn had known he would not, but the other hobbits did not understand. At least, Merry and Pippin did not. Aragorn was willing to bet that Sam did. The hobbit was constantly casting worried glances at his master, going out of his way to assist him whenever possible.  
  
Aragorn furrowed his brow as he Frodo moaned and slouched in the saddle, breathing heavily. He swiftly strode closer to the pony, supporting Frodo as he swayed.  
  
"You must keep on, little one," Strider crooned softly, wiping the hobbit's brow with his sleeve.  
  
Frodo glanced up weakly, his eyes glazed over.  
  
Suddenly, the sound of galloping horses' hooves broke the silence of the woods about them. Hand at the hilt of his sward, Aragorn rushed forward to greet the intruder of their peace, whether it be friend- or foe.  
  
Then, out of the trees from another path, a pure white horse appeared, and atop it, a tall, blonde elf.  
  
"Glorfindel!" cried the Ranger despite himself. He laughed loudly. The hobbits gazed up, wide-eyed, both surprised at the stranger, looking amazing in his pure-white clothing atop his stunning mount, and at their leader, the rugged Ranger, laughing aloud and rushing forward to greet him. "I was sent to find you," the stranger-elf said, eyes glistening.  
  
"You have come just in time," Strider replied gravely, the merry twinkle in his eyes suddenly going out. "A member of our party has become ill- the Ring-bearer Frodo Baggins. He has been stabbed by a Morgul blade."  
  
The stranger became suddenly serious.  
  
"We must get him to Rivendell immediately," he said.  
  
"Yes," agreed the Ranger, "and here- I have saved the hilt."  
  
At this the Ranger drew the hilt of the knife, and handed it to the elf.  
  
Glorfindel's eyes grew dark.  
  
"Evil things are written on this," said he, "though they may not be visible to you. Touch it as little as possible, but save it until we reach Rivendell! It may be of help to Elrond in healing him."  
  
Strider nodded and re-sheathed the sward. 


	9. Easing the Pain

Hey everyone! Miss me? It's been forever since I've updated this story...sorry about that. But now, another chapter to "Encounter At Weathertop!" Enjoy! Questions and comments can be sent to samdro87yahoo.com, or else review!  
  
Glorfindel knelt next to Frodo, gently placing his hand against the hobbit's forehead. Frodo shivered, seemingly feeling that the white hand against his head was cold, though it was quite warm.  
  
"He is fevered," Gorfindel said. "How long has he been this way?"  
  
"Weeks," Aragorn replied, "around two and a half, I believe."  
  
Glorfindel turned to the Ranger suddenly, bright eyes wide.  
  
"And he still lives?!"  
  
"Hobbits are apparently made of strong stuff, Glorfindel," Aragorn said, with a wink towards Sam. The old gardener smiled.  
  
"Nonetheless, we must get him to Elrond," the elf said gravely. "He is very ill; at the verge of death. Or, what is worse than death."  
  
The hobbits shot a surprised and frightened glance at both the Ranger and the Elf. What could be worse than death?  
  
"Come," Strider said, changing the subject. He was unwilling to enlighten the hobbits on Frodo's serious condition just now. "Let us build a fire and camp here for the night."  
  
The darkness was chilly. Aragorn pulled the rough blankets lying over his muscular body tighter around him. He tried to sleep, but rest was not coming to the weathered Ranger. Sighing, he pulled himself up into a sitting position and edged closer to the fire.  
  
Hearing a light rustle, he turned his head- and saw Glorfindel pulling Frodo up into his arms, studying his face intently. Aragorn edged closer until he was close enough to the elf to talk to him quietly without waking the others.  
  
"How is he?" asked the Ranger.  
  
"Not well," Glorfindel replied quietly, sighing a little. "And Rivendell still lies many miles ahead."  
  
"Yes," said Strider sadly, "I know."  
  
Glorfindel reached out towards the blankets, and Aragorn thought he might be pulling the blankets closer to the young hobbit. Instead, he tugged them away, then unbuttoned Frodo's shirt, revealing the white scar etched in his shoulder. Frodo groaned as the chilly air made contact with his wound.  
  
Glorfindel reached down and gently touched the pale, puckered skin as Strider watched. Frodo moaned, then grew quiet and stopped shivering. Aragorn was alarmed at first, thinking Frodo may have passed, then realized what Glorfindel was doing- taking the edge off the pain. Frodo had relaxed not because he was slipping, but because he was getting better.  
  
Strider looked up at the elf.  
  
"You are healing him."  
  
"No," Glorfindel said sadly. "I have not that power. Only Elrond can heal such a wound as this. I am only easing the pain."  
  
The elf sighed.  
  
"At least he will not suffer as much."  
  
Aragorn nodded and looked up at the stars brightly twinkling above them. There was still such a long way to go, and Frodo was not getting better. The only hope was that Elrond could help him. 


	10. Swift Ride

Oh my gosh, it's been forever! Everyone's probably forgotten all about me! Oh, well, hopefully this will refresh everyone's memory. Sorry about the extremely long wait. Enjoy the next chapter, and please review!  
  
The next morning, Glorfindel woke early and hastily aroused the others.  
  
"Come," he said, "the journey is long, and it is vital that we reach Elrond as quickly as we may."  
  
Sam headed over to Frodo, gently touching his master's good shoulder and calling his name in a soft, gentle voice.  
  
"Come, Master Frodo," he crooned, "ye've got to be wakin' up, now. We need to get ye to Rivendell, where Elrond can tend ye."  
  
Frodo groaned as Samwise helped him stand.  
  
"You will ride my horse," Glorfindel said, as Samwise guided Frodo over to the huge white mount.  
  
"No," Frodo said suddenly, struggling to stand on his own. He was tired of being weak, tired of causing all of the trouble. "No! I will not ride ahead and leave my friends behind in danger."  
  
Glorfindel laughed.  
  
"I doubt very much that they will be in much danger once they are not with you," he said. "You must get to Rivendell quickly. My horse is swift and gentle, and he will bear whomever I command him to. You must ride."  
  
Frodo was too tired to further protest. He allowed Sam and Glorfindel to help him mount, and they set off towards the Elven haven. 


End file.
